Hallowed By Thy Name
by giraffe aponahekal
Summary: There is wind, and rain, and the smell of blood in the air, and Mary is screaming. In front of me, stretched out against the stormy sky, hands raised to the air as though in a mockery of worship... My savior. My brother.


God. Oh, God. Why is this happening? This is all so wrong...

The land is dark. Has been for quite a while now. I can't remember how long I've been standing here, in the wind and the darkness. All I know is that there is wind, and rain, and the smell of blood in the air, and Mary is screaming. Shuddering and sobbing at my feet, and my hands are around her shoulders. I can't tell whether I'm trying to comfort her or myself.

And in front of me... stretched out against the stormy sky, hands raised to the air as though in a mockery of worship... Jesus Christ. My savior. My brother.

This is all so _wrong_. It seems like a lifetime ago that we sat, my head resting against His shoulder, warm and safe from any of this.

My fists spasm and clench, and I feel tears running down my face. I'm shivering violently, but I force myself to look up, to settle my gaze on him.

Even from this low angle I can see the sharp thorns on His crown digging painfully into His scalp, blood mingled with rain running down his forehead and dripping onto the ground. The welts over His shoulders and back are stark and red against His skin, and I flinch at the sight, my own shoulders aching in sympathy. I can't look at His hands and feet, it's too much. The screams as the nails were driven into Him are still lingering in my ears, and I know they'll haunt me for many nights afterwards.

He's grimacing in pain, His chest still rising and falling, taking in shallow breaths. I'm torn – I want Him to live, I'm dreading the moment when that breath finally ceases... yet at the same time, I wish that He could finally be released from his agony.

His dark eyes open, meeting mine. I bite my lip, feeling tears well up behind my eyes. How can this be happening... I've seen Him do the impossible, bring people back from beyond death... yet here He is, dying Himself while a jeering crowd looks on. I cannot help but wonder – can He not get Himself out of this, through some miracle? Why does he have to _die_?

He swallows, with great effort, then He speaks, His voice tight and rasping with pain.

"Mother, there is your son."

Mary lifts her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. I'm holding her tightly now, holding my breath as He speaks again.

"There is your mother."

I nod, wanting to reassure Him, wanting him to know that I'll take care of her. And I will take care of her, I already love her as my own... moreover, who am I to refuse His dying request?

Dying... I still can't believe it, still can't believe He is going to leave us. I cling to Mary, and her fingers clench and twist in the front of my robes, quiet moans spilling from her mouth. I wrap my arms around her, both of us shivering.

"I thirst..."

His voice is so soft now, I almost don't catch it. I look up, and the next thing I know, two soldiers are marching up, jostling us roughly aside. One of them holds up a sponge on a stick, and I catch the heady smell of vinegar over the scent of blood and rain. My stomach clenches, rolling, and for the first time this night I feel sick. I force the nausea back, watching with narrowed eyes as they hold the stick up to His mouth.

Everything seems to fall silent as the soldiers retreat, the sponge stained red with His blood. The wind has quietened, and for a moment it seems like the world has shrunk down to only the three of us – Mary, Jesus and myself.

His mouth opens, and He coughs slightly, drawing in a shuddering breath.

"Father..." he whispers, and my heart seems to jump. I squeeze Mary tightly, as though holding her hard enough will somehow stop Jesus from leaving.

"Father... into your hands I commend... my spirit..."

His head drops down.

Something seems to snap inside of me. Mary suddenly wrenches free from my grasp, a loud wail wrenching from her. The wail of a grieving mother. I let her go, falling to the muddy ground myself. Thunder is roaring and the earth is shaking below me. The world is grieving the death of our Savior.

There is wind, and rain, and the smell of blood in the air. Mary is screaming.

He is dead. I can't believe it. He is dead.

I throw back my head and howl, because the world seems so much darker now.

He is dead.

* * *

><p><em>three more days and i'll be coming back again<em>


End file.
